


Weaknesses V: Their Only Choices

by Viridian5



Series: Weaknesses [5]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Drama, Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-04-25
Updated: 1998-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 08:11:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5/pseuds/Viridian5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder and Krycek try to make peace with one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weaknesses V: Their Only Choices

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for for just about every story between "Terma" and "The Red and the Black." "Freestate" is by Depeche Mode.

After all we'd been through together it hurt to be leaving like this. As I walked to the elevator, I tried to hold onto the image of his slowly softening expression and the feel of his warm skin beneath my lips. I didn't know when I would see him again.

"Alex, wait," I heard Mulder say from behind me. I turned to face him. He stood in the doorway of his apartment with his arms wrapped around himself looking as if he would fly apart at any moment. I wanted to rush over and hold him together, but I knew I couldn't do that. I could hold him, but not necessarily together.

Mulder has seen and experienced things that would have broken most people. I sometimes wondered with some cynicism if he survived because he hadn't been sane even before he got involved with the X-Files.

"What, Mulder?"

The words dripped out slowly and softly like water from a stone. "Please don't go. Not yet."

Even as I walked back I knew I was doing something stupid but it didn't matter. I couldn't say no to the look in his eyes. With my heart pounding, I followed him back into the apartment.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up a finger that said, Wait. As he fiddled with a beat-up looking stereo system, I wondered what he was up to and thought of the past. While in Tunguska I had someone keeping track of news on Mulder, news that I received in a chunk every few months when I returned to St. Petersburg.

Life had let Mulder survive his run from the prison camp intact, better than I had, but then proceeded to gut punch him. He dealt with the more every-day horrors of the X-Files as well as he usually did, but horrors of a more personal nature kept striking. Scully discovered that she had cancer in an inoperable portion of her brain. I never understood their bond, but I could see it existed. The prospect of losing her must have seemed like Samantha all over again, but this time with more personal blame involved.

When I found out that Mulder went to a quack doctor to get holes drilled into his head, I wanted to return to the States just so I could shake some sense into him and then keep him locked up somewhere safe so he could never hurt himself again. He had it done to stimulate his recall of his past. William, one of Mulder's personalities, once claimed to be a repository of all of Mulder's memories but apparently wasn't sharing for his own cold, self-interested reasons.

Through an unusual bit of luck I didn't get to hear about Mulder's "suicide" until after the news that it was a hoax arrived too. I knew Mulder well enough to guess that he must have been close to an actual suicide to think up that gambit. It seemed that the Consortium had expected whatever they had done to him to make him do exactly that. I had a feeling that bitch Scully had contributed somehow.

Against all odds Mulder found a cure for her but she remained cold to him. That cigarette smoking bastard brought Mulder a woman who claimed to be his sister. She spoke with him for a few minutes then cut off all future contact. Not even I knew if she was who she and the Cancer Man claimed she was. A woman with the ability to push people's minds almost tricked Mulder into killing his partner. A sentient machine trapped him and tortured him mentally.

And something had shaken the beliefs that formed the foundation of his life. It stunned me that I had to sell him on the idea of the alien war. What did he use to keep his mind together now?

Every time I heard something terrible I wanted to go to him, but I was too afraid. Afraid that my presence would do more damage. Afraid that he would reject me, especially with my amputated arm. Afraid that I would see that--while he had kept up the facade that had kept his secrets safe for years--his mind had broken, and no one else had realized.

I also had my work, and even I found it harder and harder to justify what I did. I had tortured that boy and sewn his eyes and mouth shut. I had done worse over the last few months in my dual positions as KGB officer and adviser to the scientists refining the cure for the black cancer. I told myself the usual stories about the ends justifying the means and about the benefits of the many being more important than the suffering of the few, but I knew that Mulder would be horrified if he ever found out. So he wouldn't.

When the music turned on loud, I immediately recognized the singer's voice from my road trip with Mulder and identified the CD as being a Depeche Mode album. Fox loved them. When Mulder turned to me I scrutinized him for signs that Fox had taken control, but the posture and eyes still said Mulder.

I often found it hard being involved with a man who had multiple personality disorder, since it was worse than marrying into someone's family. You could like some of the personalities and hate others, but couldn't refuse to deal with them, especially not when they could pop out at any time. I liked Fox but wanted Mulder.

He stopped in front of me and said softly, "I decided to leave the audio bug in and take advantage of it. Audio, but no video for those prying bastards. Maybe they'd think I found the one but missed the other. You knew about it, didn't you."

He wouldn't believe a lie this time. "Yes," I said as softly. "Mulder, I want you to know that I had a plan in Tunguska. I was going to get us out."

"Of course." He sounded so cold, but he still seemed to be Mulder, not William.

"Please, Mulder."

"I've done a lot of thinking lately. I can't trust you, but I can't trust Scully or Skinner or myself either. So why am I so angry at you for being untrustworthy? No reason really."

Panicked, I momentarily felt the urge to blurt out all of his old reasons at him, no matter the damage to myself, because I wanted to shake that horrible equitable tone from his voice. He scared me. He sounded defeated.

I grabbed his arms. "Mulder, it's important to feel what you feel. You just can't think around some things. Not everything is logical or makes sense. You should know that."

The music briefly ceased then changed into something warm and loping with keyboards and guitars. He altered with it and smiled with a muted happiness. "I love this song."

"Mulder?"

"He's been feeling bad for a few months now. Just give him time to process your information and kiss, and he'll be better. He just has to think through it. Once it hits, you'll have made him very happy."

"Which one are you?"

His smile broadened as he took me in his arms and started to rock me around in time to the music. "Guess," he said softly into my ear, making me shiver. Holding me close, cheek to cheek, he started to sing along with David Gahan, "I can hear your soul crying / Listen to your spirit sighing / I can feel your desperation / Emotional deprivation / Let yourself go/ Let yourself go / Let your feelings show..."

Through the distraction of his breath and voice at my ear and the feeling of him slow dancing in my arms, I tried to think. I instantly crossed William off the list. Fox followed. Fox loved Depeche Mode, could sing, and had a penchant for being touchy-feely, but the one singing right now didn't use the higher-pitched talking voice that had the faint New England accent or the rich, crowd-pleasing singing voice Fox did. I pulled back as far as he would let me and looked into his eyes. They weren't Fox's eyes.

I got it. I dealt with Fox Mulder, the semi-integrated one, right now. I didn't know if he was a separate personality or an odd collaboration of Mulder with a few of the others, but I had always liked him. He comprised some middle state between Mulder's depressed over-thinking and Fox's cheerful, sensual self-interest.

Mulder once said that, once he felt comfortable and content working on the X-Files, he had been integrating his selves before the Consortium started to lean on him. Seeing how agreeable and spontaneous Fox Mulder could be, it made me wonder how he would have ended up if left to work the X-Files with no interference.

"Picking up the conversations / Deep in your imagination / Tune into the lonely voices / Talking of their only choices / Let yourself go / Let yourself go / Let your spirit grow..."

I finally realized through the haze of physical stimuli that he sang about himself. Or themselves. The music picked up tempo for the chorus he danced us around a little faster with a little more sensuality. The feeling of him moving against me drove me insane.

"Step out of your cage / And onto the stage/ It's time to start / Playing your part / Freedom awaits / Open the gates / Open your mind / Freedom's a state..." As an instrumental piece played he kissed the tip of my ear.

I gasped and asked, "Are you speaking for Mulder with this?"

"I can't speak for all the inmates; we don't all agree very often. But I think, yes. The last few months underscored how short life can be, and he's never gotten over you." His hand played along my spine. "I can taste the tears falling / The bitterness inside you calling / Yearning for a liberation / Emotional emancipation / Let yourself go / Let yourself go / Let your senses overflow..."

As I stroked his hair I felt a few tiny lumps at the hairline. Scars. He shivered as my fingers lingered over them as if they were Braille and let me read Mulder's madness and desperation. He pulled back a little then kissed my left shoulder, probably to tell me that he didn't mind the fake arm at all.

As the song swung into the next chorus, he sped us up again and swiveled against me. As I moaned he sang, "Step out of your cage / And onto the stage / It's time to start / Playing your part / Freedom awaits / Open the gates / Open your mind / Freedom's a state..."

We danced to the closing instrumental with our lips locked together and our bodies synchronized. We didn't have any time. He had to be at the military base at a certain time or he'd miss the transfer. I had places I had to be. I let this moment, the sensations, block it out for as I long as I could.

He shuddered against me. "Alex, please--" he moaned. I saw Mulder looking at me with glittering, dilated eyes.

No time. I knelt in front of Mulder, unfastened his pants, pulled down his boxers, and took him in my mouth, working his cock over with my teeth and tongue. He bit down on his lower lip, but strangled sounds of pleasure still came out, if muffled. I remembered the audio surveillance of his apartment. He tried so hard to control himself and not hurt me, but he still bucked against me violently as he came. I wondered how long it had been for him.

He slumped to his knees in front of me and kissed me hungrily. As his tongue explored my mouth, his hands unfastened my pants and shoved my own underwear to my knees. One of his hands expertly stroked and pumped my cock as the other played with my balls. I so missed having two hands. When I came I screamed into his mouth.

For a while we leaned against one another forehead to forehead, propping one another up off the messy floor. I chuckled as I realized that he still wore his trench coat in addition to his suit jacket. It died as I remembered.

"I have to go, Mulder."

He trembled a little. "I know."

"Mulder, I'll be staying at the Americana Hotel on Spring Street in Room 10 for two days."

He smiled. "Okay." He was still smiling as I left.

******************************************************

He showed up at 10 a.m. the next morning looking like hell. I spent hours worrying that I would never see him again for various reasons. I tasted tears on his skin when I kissed him. "What happened?" I asked.

"I didn't get him. I barely even got to see him. That alien killer came, then everything whited out. The MP didn't stop interrogating me until a half hour ago." He sighed and kissed me back. "I took today off with Scully's blessing."

"Mulder, before we go any further, I think you should see this." I took off my shirt to show him what remained of my arm. I never wore the uncomfortable prosthesis when I was by myself, so Mulder saw the stump in its full mutilated glory.

I saw no revulsion in him. He came closer, an innocent curiosity in his eyes, to examine and finally kiss it. The warmth of his mouth against the sensitive skin made me shiver.

"So your scars are on the outside. It doesn't matter to me. This time I'm taking my time."

### End

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Depeche Mode's _Ultra_ album makes a good soundtrack, with only "The Love Thieves" and "Sister of Night" breaking the pattern, to the lovelife and times of our favorite angst-filled puppy. While most of the songs work with Mulder's relationship with Krycek, I think "Useless" provides an incredible accompaniment to the Mulder/Scully dynamic at its most painful.

I believe that he loves her but know that, if they ever did get together, it wouldn't work out or bring him happiness. This is the woman who told him that everything he believed and based his life on was a lie and that she was dying because of him, punching almost every self-destruct button she knows he has, then sent him home alone to think about it. The only way she could have been more devastating would be to produce Samantha's corpse as well. The phone call saved his life.)

Try it today!


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